PATRIA.[1]

_("La-haut, qui sourit.")_

[Bk. VII. vii., September, 1853.]


Who smiles there? Is it
A stray spirit,
Or woman fair?
Sombre yet soft the brow!
Bow, nations, bow;
O soul in air,
Speak--what art thou?

In grief the fair face seems--
What means those sudden gleams?
Our antique pride from dreams
Starts up, and beams
Its conquering glance,--
To make our sad hearts dance,
And wake in woods hushed long
The wild bird's song.
Angel of Day!
Our Hope, Love, Stay,
Thy countenance
Lights land and sea
Eternally,
Thy name is France
Or Verity.